


Bargains

by itsyu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Depowered, FrostIron - Freeform, M/M, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, incarceration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyu/pseuds/itsyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle of New York, Odin banishes Loki to Midgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he comes to, he is cold, dazed and confused, words of banishment echoing in his ears. The air is wrong, and his body feels cold and stiff.

 

There are bands of something that resembles metal, but is, at the same time too supple to be so, almost like a second skin, placed around his wrists, neck and chest. They are neither hot not cold, hard nor soft, but register in a long forgotten sense as _negative_ and _wrong_ and he knows without trying that they will absorb any sort of magic he might attempt to use. Even the glamour put on him by Odin, not simple magic but something older and by now deeply imbedded in his cells falters around the bands, icy blue bleeding out around were they sit.

 

When he is done investigating himself, he raises his eyes to see he is atop a tall building, sitting in the middle of circle formed by scorch marks and upturned stones in what used to be some sort of terrace. And, standing before him, is a man in crimson and golden armor.

 

***

 

After, men come but he doesn’t react and all appear surprised when he voices no complaint, shows no resistance to being taken, but still a needle is jammed into his neck and all is darkness.

 

***

 

The room is white and not exactly spacious, but the utter lack of furnishings, except for a cot and a sink and lavatory, make it appear bigger than one would expect from a cell. White, bright lights are continuously on, placed all around so no shadows are possible. It should bother him, but he just sits, with his eyes closed, idly fingering the band around his wrist, trying to get used to the seeping feeling of the band against his fingers, like syphon sucking the very life from his fingertips, but he never does, not really.

 

***

 

He guesses it is a few days before they figure out what to do with him, but he can’t be sure, as time passes sluggishly in this always lit room, with only his strangely void thoughts as company. It is oddly peaceful and he wonders what else was done to him, what Odin took from him, but then again, maybe it is just surrender and exhaustion. Or maybe, it is simply the result of his mind having been stretched and cut and patched by Thanos, and this is the result, he is finally broken and void.

 

***

 

When the men come, first in large, armed groups and then less and less, they speak to him, voice questions and accusations, try to make him speak, make him react, but he does nothing, just sits with his eyes closed, feeling the bracelet with his fingertips. He hears them in a background murmur, like the wind through trees in the forest he used to hide as a child, and he wonders if he’ll ever smell the green again, but thinks not. The realization rings hollow in his chest and the voices fade into nothing as he retreats further back into himself.

 

***

 

The humans try everything – they cajole and they scream, they hit and make incredible offers, they withdraw food but this is barely noted, as he has not eaten since his arrival. His body, weaken as it might be by the bands, is still strong, Jotun and Aesir and can go ages without nourishment, eventually shutting himself in stasis not unlike the Odinsleep if necessary. There are signs, of course, his breath becomes labored and his lips crack, his hands skeletal, but the bands continue skin tight, adapting around him like living things though they now make him think of death.

 

***

 

They project pictures on the walls, face of the humans he killed by his own hands and others that die by his actions, voices telling about their lives, their families, asking him why. He watches and listens, dully. He is from a warring people. Death is present in fight, fun, love and sport. Tales of killing what he would discover to be his own people were told in feasts to the sound of laughter and cheering. What would he care of humans, who killed their own kind, who were cruel and irrational, whose lifespans where but a blink to him?

 

Eventually, however, he closes his eyes and ears and tells himself it is because he has grown bored with the repetition, but can’t quite chase away the echo and accursing eyes.

 

***

 

The patterns change, the lights are turned off, the room cools and for a long time, there are no more visits. Maybe they gave up on him and left him to die. The idea would have tugged the corners of his lips into a smile in another time, knowing he would still exist long after the bones of his captors had turned to dust and the building crumbled into rubble, but all this does is make him strangely wistful.

 

***

 

When the darkness has already become the norm and thoughts of light no longer cross his mind, again the patterns are changed and a single man comes. Through his eyelids his over sensitive eyes can see a strange shine about the man, white blue and damped by clothes but there. The man speaks at length and despite himself he finds himself listening. The man tells tales and asks questions, but not the same the others had, about Asgard and magic and technology and his plans and how he had found the chitauri, where they were from. He asks about Loki, what has been done to him, why is he here, if he is here at all.

 

Eventually the man also leaves, but things change after that. The lights are back, but not in full – they are not as bright and they are turned off during what Loki presumes in night. Food appears once more, but this time it is warm and fragrant. Other items are placed in the cell, clothing and books and paper and ink. But above all, there is a stirring inside him. He still sits, eyes closed, taking no action towards the things presented to him, but it is as though he is slowly awaking inside himself, more and more with each visit of the man.

 

***

 

Slowly but surely, he returns to a semblance of living. He walks around the room. He leafs through the books, finding some strangely fascinating. He eventually even eats, though not much.

 

When the man comes, he watches him as he speaks. The first time he opened his eyes to the intruder he can hear the man’s breath catch, but soon he continues speaking, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Loki still doesn’t speak, but the man doesn’t seem to mind, as he continues with his tales of adventure and villains and inventions.

 

***

 

One day it comes to him, as if through a fog, who the man is. He remembers bravado and confrontation, remembers the scepter failing.

 

He remembers Tony Stark.

 

***

 

The next time he asks the man – Stark – Tony – Stark.

 

He asks what he is doing here, why, what he is getting out of this.

 

There is no response, at first, but a glint of challenge and curiosity in those eyes that he knows well, a glint that was ever present in Loki’s own eyes before hatred and greed and madness took him.

 

***

 

The next time he comes, Loki is the one to speak. Before the man has closed the door, he starts, retelling the story of his life. It is long and ancestral by no means done in a single sitting. The man’s visits become longer and more frequent, and he drinks in the epic tales without interrupting. He doesn’t restrain himself to any specific story, not to the ones of which he is the hero nor to the ones that show his malice and treachery. He does not avoid telling of Odin, of Thor, of Frigga. He recants nothing, hides nothing. He describes jealousy of Thor, but also kindness and affection that surprise even him.

 

Loki knows this is being recorded and noted, and he wonders what, if any, of his words will find their way to his brother’s ears. The prospect isn’t completely abhorrent, once again surprising him.

 

***

 

He tells, more painfully now, of Jotunheim and Laufey and Thanos and the Void. He sees recognition in Stark’s eyes accompanied by sharp intake of breath, but the man says nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Loki’s story is all but done and Stark disappears. Of course, he got what he came for, Loki thinks, and doesn’t let himself become disappointed. The comfort provided – the food and books and the light – don’t disappear, so he can tell himself Stark upheld his end of a non-existing bargain and be done. But it is not long before he is pacing the floor, before the frustration builds and manifests itself in thrown books and screams. It’s been thrice a fortnight since he saw or spoke to another, when the door finally opens again.

 

He jumps to his feet, curses and maledictions at the tip of his tongue, but they turn to sand when those who enter are not Stark.

 

Thor and the red headed woman who tricked him come in, taking little notice of the chaos of ripped pages and broken plastic that litters the room – _cage_ he is suddenly aware now, more than ever before as he backs toward the bed. Thor he can handle, but the woman is wicked. He notes in the back of his mind that in the times when Midgard was but a backyard for the Aesir to play their games, taken as gods, she would have made a fearsome member of his following.

 

Thor looks like he can’t believe his eyes, if weary, and he seems to be struggling with himself as he raises a hand towards Loki.

 

“Brother, how have I longed to see you face once more.” He says, so earnestly that a jab at why he hasn’t dies at the tip of his tongue. The red woman places a hand on Thor’s arm, narrowed eyes trained intently on Loki, and he knows she has already accessed all means by which he could bring harm to either of them.

 

“That’s not why we are here, Thor.” She says, coldly, eyes never leaving his face. “We have a proposition.”

 

***

 

They take him through corridors and into a jet, guns trained him at all moments, and a needle inches from his neck, held by the red-haired woman. _Black Widow_ , he heard them call her. Fitting.

 

He barely notices his surroundings, however, as he is taken to the garish tower he faintly remembers, seeming an eon ago. He crosses the room where the green monstrosity attacked him, no more sign of the dent left by that occasion.

 

The room they take him to smells of death and chemicals. The man lying in the bed in the middle of the room looks old and haggard and Loki wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the faint blue glow emanating from his chest. He had been told, but the sight was still enough to make his breath catch. In his mind, ire rises and he promises a slow death to the responsible, before catching himself.

 

***

 

Enchantress, Thor had told him. The fight had been long and hard, and once it was done it still have taken them days to realize that Tony – Stark – had been hit with something, time by which she had already disappeared into the rifts between realms. And day by day, Stark had aged, growing feeble and sickly before their eyes. Apparently, the curse had been intended for Thor’s lady Jane, with the iron fool blocking it before it could hit. The over confident oaf, Loki cursed.

 

They had tried to reverse the effects, Thor had told him, but it had been for naught. The Widow had noted they had even tried to transfuse the supersoldier blood – whatever that was – to no avail. At last, Thor had pleaded.

 

“I know you are no healer, brother, but thy magic is strong, much stronger than that of the Enchantress. We have no other hope of returning our companion.” His voice was grave and pleading. Loki feels a tightening in his chest at his words, and his hand goes to his throat, trying to feel if the band is suddenly tighter, explaining why can’t seem to breathe anymore. Thor’s eyes follow his gesture. “They can be banished – for this. They will be returned, however. But you will have your freedom. That is the bargain being struck.” A million thoughts run through his mind as surprise courses through his spine. The thought of having his magic back, being rid of the accused bands – but only for a moment, what good is freedom without his magic?

 

“Lead me to him, then.” Is all he can say, however.

 

***

 

Thor brings down Mjolnir to the invisible chain between Loki’s wrists and the bands – the shackles – fade away into nothing, naught but slight chaffing indicating they had ever existed. Loki flexes his fingers, feeling the power once more course through them. All the Midgardians in the room tense, waiting for his next move, all the while with their weapons trained on him. Thor seems to be the only one calm, and it nearly irks Loki, how he could be so sure of him, that he is tame and will do is bidding. Before this train of thought can take root, however, Loki is already turning towards the bed and kneeling beside it. He can hear a bow being pulled taunt and he knows it is Barton – Hawkeye – he remembers briefly the feel of the man’s mind while under his control, but banishes the thought.

 

His fingers run through Stark’s body, picking up the energy signature, finding the places where the magic burrowed itself deep in his bones, in his organs, in every cell of his blood. This is a complex curse, much above what he would expect from Enchantress. He knows she must have spent a great amount of time brewing and perfecting it, fueled by the hatred toward the one, she felt, had taken Thor from her. Loki frowned. She had never had a chance, but Loki himself had fueled her fantasies with well-placed lies, taking joy from the discomfort her overtures gave Thor.

 

He should be glad, he noted, discomforted. This path of events would allow him to be free – in a fashion. He would find how to make away with the bindings that trapped his magic, once he was free to roam the earth as he pleased.

His fingers finally still when he finds a knot of raw power, the place where the main curse settled itself, leaking into the rest of the body and controlling the decay. He listlessly hears a curse as his hands go inside Stark’s chest, chasing the black energy lodged around his hearth, and Thor’s grave voice telling the other to stay.

 

There is sweat beading in his forehead as he tries to encapsulate all the slimy, angry energy with his own. He knows that if any is left behind, it will kill the mortal instantly in a last fit of destruction.

 

It seems like hours but were probably minutes when he finally manages to drag the _thing_ out of the man’s chest. It is bigger than his fists, black and dripping, and when he brings his own magic around it and slams both his hands together, destroying it, he hears a guttural scream in Enchantress voice, and it is gone.

 

As soon as it disappears, however, another sound begins, a loud uninterrupted tone, coming from beside the bed, and before he can look there is a knife at his throat.

 

“What did you do?” the Widow asks, pressing the point of the knife and drawing blood.

 

“I,” he says, coolly, hiding his alarm. “fulfilled my end of the deal.” As he spoke, Stark de-aged before his eyes, hair turning black once more. Something is off, however, but before he can pinpoint what, he is shoved towards the bed.

 

“The deal didn’t include him dying! Fix it!” Barton screams at him, pointing and arrow right between his eyes. Loki looks at Stark once more and finally realizes what is of – the blue light in his chest is off. He remembers Stark referring to it as his heart –  remembers the pieces of metal he felt as he drew the curse – remembers it blocking the power of the staff. The magic he used must have interfered with the device.

 

Once more he falls to his knees besides the bed, furiously thinking how he can fix this. A voice in the back of his mind tells his to seize the opportunity – the shackles are off, he could teleport away in the middle of the chaos, could be in another realm before they think to look for him – but his hands, coated in magic, are already inside _Tony_ ’s chest again, cradling his heart between them, making it beat for him. It is not enough, however, he can feel the lifeforce draining away, the strings being cut.

 

Before even he realises what he is doing, Loki feels his lips move, a long forgotten incantation crossing them, and he can faintly hear Thor calling him, over the power roaring in his ears. He can feel it building in his throat, a golden heat of pure life, and when he can’t take it anymore, feeling as though he might explode, he places his mouth over Tony’s, transferring it into his body, flooding him with light. He feels Thor’s strong hands catch him as all will leaves his body and all is darkness again.


	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes up, he is in bed, a soft bed, something he hasn’t experienced in years, and he marvels at the sensation on sore muscles before he registers there is someone in the room.

Loki opens his eyes to see chocolate brown ones, with molten gold freckles that seem to dance and shift, and it all comes back to him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Tony Stark says, voice full of mirth, sitting back from his hovering position into a more respectable distance. “Though from what I hear you should be telling me that. So, demi-god, huh? Pepper will never hear the end of this, I always say I should be canonized, though I guess this is a step above.”

“Thor,” Loki says, slowly, closing his eyes when Tony looks at him expectantly, ignoring the pleasure hearing the simple prattling once more brings him, “speaks too much.”

“Well, to be fair, everyone was curious when I, you know, started glowing.” Loki notices a faint glow still there, making Tony look somewhat like those unreal Midgardian advertisements where all signs of humanity have been blurred away.

To his chagrin, Loki can’t help staring. The glow settles almost like a supernatural tan on Tony’s skin. He also looks younger, his features smoother, but maybe timeless would be a better description. Loki quickly averts his eyes when they make eye contact. There is a reason the enchantment is taboo. There is no record of it having been done in millennia. It is thought to be a legend both in Midgard and Asgard, and the only reason Loki and Thor know it even existed was their complete disregard for the restrictions in place in Frigga’s library.

 

***

 

He remembers the many nights he had spent at the library, still just a youth, more often than not with Thor in tow to keep watch. He hadn’t been hard to convince – Loki had spun a tale of how this was a test, that being able to lie, sneak and deceit were necessary disciplines to the formation of a sorcerer. That Thor had not baited an eye at this was a true testament of the kind of person his brother was.

He vividly remembered the night he had found that spell. It was in a particularly well hidden book - which had, obviously, piqued Loki's interest immediately. He had dismissed all the easily accessible tomes with promising titles and glittering covers, searching at the bottom of ceiling high piles, behind curtain and shelves. When he had found the strangely dusty and brown book, with a faint aura of repulsion – he could tell when he picked it up it had been enchanted to be forgettable at a first glance – he was sure this was knowledge worthy of Frigga’s wrath. Initially, he had been disappointed. The tome began with an innate tale of romance between a god and mortal woman. It was beautifully illustrated, however, the god big and golden and the woman small and grey, and so he had continued reading, the light catching on the gilded images having drawn Thor to his side.

His brother’s breath had caught beside Loki when the seemingly merry tale took a dark turn, the woman turning smaller and greyer as age took her, the god’s despair clear in the now disturbing illustrations as he searched for a way to keep his love by his side.

After many adventures, a choice had been granted to the god, the precision with which it was described the only indication it wasn’t just a fable. In the end, both the god and the woman had changed - her more, him less, both different - and he remembers closing the book in disgust, ending that night's expedition early, Thor trailing confused after him.

His brother had thought the story beautiful, much to Loki’s derision. The idea of halving himself, losing that which made him superior, his birthright, had made him ill. He despised the weakness that had made the god give all that was most precious - all his power – for a woman. He vowed not to be the same, did his best to convince Thor it had been a cautionary tale and naught more, and put the idea out of his mind.

Or at least he thought he had, apparently.

 

***

 

“I guess I should thank you,” Tony says, voice softer, when Loki remains silent, bringing him back from his reverie. His mind feels slightly sluggish. “Well, more than thank you, really. But I have to ask, and, hey, maybe I’m breaking protocol here, who knows, but, well, why?”

Why indeed. He doesn’t know how much Thor told him about the trade he made, but it was not a cheap one. Life, specially god-like life, does not come without sacrifice, without a price. He can still feel his magic – idly he realizes the bands aren’t back – but he is not the same as he was. The gates of Asgard are now closed to him – though, then again, in honesty that had already been the case.

When Loki doesn’t move or say anything, Tony reaches a hand to touch his shoulder. The touch is fugitive, but there, and the caress makes his skin sizzle with electricity. Tony must also feel it too, for he can hear a soft exclamation. There’s an undercurrent of pleasure in his voice that makes Loki turn. Tony is panting lightly, his pupils blown and turned to where is hand is still touching Loki.

Before he can control himself, Loki reaches a hand and touches Tony face, feeling the same crackling of energy at his fingertips, coursing up his arm and pooling hotly in his chest. He idly wonders whether this is an effect of the bargain he is done while Tony turns his head to rub his cheek against Loki’s palm.

When Tony leans over Loki with one hand firmly in place besides his head, and lowers himself, touching warm, golden lips that taste full of life and better than magic to Loki’s, and an explosion happens behind his eyes, his whole body filled with liquid warmth and power crackling around them, he concedes that perhaps the god-turned-man hadn't been such a fool as he thought, after all.


End file.
